


Our Vicious Cycle

by LadySmith



Category: The Legend of Zelda, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Desperation, Fear of Discovery, Jealousy, Lies, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Repressed Memories, Requited Love, Soul-Searching, Starting Over, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmith/pseuds/LadySmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When you are born into a time and place, and that place is destroyed by time, what are you left with and what do you live for?" They just wanted to remember even though they didn't know there were things they had forgotten. A tale about elusive epiphanies, endless loops, and the people caught in-between. Link/Male Sheik.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Double Entendre

**Author's Note:**

> Summary quote by Dan McCarthy

"It was neither deja vu, presque vu, nor jamais vu.  
It was possible that there were other vus of which he had never heard  
and that one of these other vus would explain succinctly the baffling phenomenon of which he had been both a witness and a part;  
it was even possible that none of what he thought had taken place, really had taken place,  
that he was dealing with an aberration of memory rather than of perception,  
that he never really had thought he had seen what he now thought he once did think he had seen,  
that his impression now that he once had thought so was merely the illusion of an illusion.."

-  _Douglas Adams_

* * *

_Pensive._

No..

Not really.

_Shy? Reclusive?_

No. Not at all.

_Afraid?_

Maybe.

_At a loss for words?_

Yes.. yes that was it.

_'The fair-haired knight cast his glance downward, yet again at a loss for words. Yet every moment it was the same - solemn, face relaxed - thoughts somewhere, anywhere, but the present.'_

The Sheikah placed the feathered quill against his cowl. He leaned ever so against a table at the far egde of the room, alone and with food untouched. He watched another, red eyes only flickering up in an instance or so, ink to paper scribbling, just pausing to observe.

'What does he think about, I wonder, the fair-haired knight seated beside the Queen Zelda. Is it of her?' he thought to himself.

Sheik glanced briefly.

_Possibly._

Roguish and chiseled, with an air of intrigue no woman could refuse. Not even her.

His eyes retreated again to the parchment, filling out a story of the evening's events. All that mattered is that he document them, romanticize them a bit, and hand it to the queen once the night was through. It did not matter if what was wrote was true or false, not really. All that mattered is that it sounded nice.

And he made it so.

The second parchment he kept for secrets, the one about things only for himself. Unfortunately that one contained the most words, and he thought to himself how long he'd spend tonight, making up for what he'd not accounted for.

The Queen Zelda, and her dress looked nice and the food was good..

Yes, he'd say those things. She liked those things.

But what he wouldn't say, was that for him to keep. That he'd watch the fair-haired knight and wonder - why, why are you so out of place? And even though Sheik could solve many a problem with logic or force, whichever one was needed, he certainly couldn't decipher the puzzle of this young man. It enticed him, this creature dripping of secrecy and allure. As he watched intently, he wondered..

_who are you?_

And he subconsciously wished to be let into his life.

* * *

He noticed the man from across the room, red eyes watching intently but ever so briefly. Frequently. The feather atop the writing utensil grazed across lips, pursed. It trailed sometimes across the users cheek, near the neck. And then the eyes would flicker up again, and the two would meet, only for an instant. A soft bat of lashes closing, and the eyes would disengage again. Link thought to ignore it entirely, but even when he rested his head against his palm and focused his attention to the Queen, he could feel the fire from across the room. It made him slightly warm and he felt as though he were perspiring. The words directed at him, near him, were heard, but not understood - absorption of their meaning lost due to the anxiousness of being watched and he wondered..

_Why? Why must you watch me?_

And then again, the pen to the paper, scribbling.. and he wondered..

_What do you write, man of the shadows, and are you writing of me?_

The Hylian, thick in his best armor, relaxed to the table and peered ever so, no more worried of his onlooker noticing his gaze. He tilted his head, blue eyes heavy-lidded, mouth in its ever consistent subtle frown. His handsome brows furrowed slightly, and he stayed this way, for he had the courage but lacked the subtlety to look away.

The Queen Zelda laughed beside him, as elegant as a bird chirping at daybreak, at the discussion that ensued from others at the table, but if one could detach from the present - a focus so strong that all else around could be blurred from existence, that is what Link did, and it was something that he had been doing, for as long as he could remember.

"Link if you could live anywhere but the past, I would think you may enjoy what lies before you more", the Queen had said lightly. She looked at him as she received no immediate response, and touched his golden hair, fingers sweeping gently as though petting a docile kitten. "Link, if you could live anywhere, where would it be?"

And the fair-haired knight had thought deeply about this, and the memories foreign to him rushed forth, and all he could do was shut his eyes, for the sting beneath them warned. And finally he turned to her and bringing hand to her cheek he whispered, "I would live here, my Queen."

That was enough for her, or so she had thought, and she smiled. "Share your thoughts with me, so that I can be a part of your life." She spoke this to him and her irises quivered, and if she could have entered his mind, she would have.

And so she went to Sheik later that night, steadfast and loyal was he, and told him to write. "I know no one more observant than you, my Sheikah friend. Write of my life - write of what you see, what you feel. I long to catalogue my days as Queen and I wish for you to do it." But what ulterior motive the Queen had, Sheik hadn't a clue. So he wrote and wrote but kept what Zelda wanted most, for himself.

When the story of that night's events had arrived into Zelda's lap, she read it hungrily, eyes sweeping over every word, every letter. Yet at its end she sighed and let the parchment fall to her dress, and the Sheikah worried he had done something wrong. Yet he hadn't, not as far as he knew, but he did fail at what he didn't know, and the Queen yearned desperately for more about her fair-haired knight and less about her pretty dress.

So she slept that night in the dark, atop her blankets still in formal attire, and let the brisk air waft in through the ornate window beside her bed. Her eyes closed but she thought, thought..

And the Sheikah had lounged lazily in his large chair and he thought, thought until sleep took him,

And the Hylian named Link sat on the edge of his bed thinking, thinking, until sleep took him, too.

* * *

He had been brought to her, shackled at the wrists - a young boy barely to his teenage years, and he bowed to her. They were similar in age, but this boy possessed a raw strength the princess (at that time) could only imagine to have. Their eyes met, red onto blue, and she wanted to keep him, for in those reddened gems she saw something - something like connecting dots to and fro what lay before this life and the next. A silent conversation was relayed in that moment, and it had said,

'we meet again'.

Saving this young Sheikah boy was a motivation she felt deep within her heart.

They grew together and he protected her, and she learned from him; becoming both a girl of the light and a figment of the dark, and they shared things together - stories of fiction and fantasy interwoven into tales of questionable fact and make-believe. They spoke of a hero, the both of them, falling to sleep whispering anecdotes of a man who had perished to save them.

They fell in love with this idea. A princess wanting to be rescued and a warrior who had lost his way before it had started.. both reaching out for an explanation of why either felt the way they did; the emptiness that had manifested inside their being, and for him without explanation.

The Sheikah boy was beautiful and quick, growing agile, taller, and wiser with each day. The princess wished to be him so that she could live out her fantasies, and the Sheikah wished to be her, so he could be with his hero from the tales she told. Yet as the story-induced memories unfolded themselves in the darkness of the room they had shared, the Sheikah had took hold of his chest and cried out a terrible sound -

and his heart had begun to beat wildly, straining.

And that was it. He dreamt of more battles, his body yearned for it, yet his heart had failed him.

"There is a piece missing.." he had cried.

"A broken heart?" she had foolishly declared, more right than wrong and certainly more truth than she had intended to let on.

A plague of not just emotional distress, but one which had manifested into the strongest sadness he had ever known. It was with him when he was born and it was with him now - useless, he felt, for when would his time come? The time his elders had promised him. And here he was, watching over the Queen, when something else beckoned him - the call of his ancestors, the call of the fields, the call of the goddesses. The call of something else, just there, beyond the wall of forgetfulness.

The princess did not mind his sudden change of demeanor however, for he had shown her countless times his worth, but he died a bit inside - a shell of a pre-destined warrior now with the interior of a broken man - a princess' mere fantasy had held more weight than she could ever have known.

* * *

The morning sun was lightly blanketed in a cloudy haze, and the men below on the land began preparations for a routine scouting mission across the fields of Hyrule. Armor was fastened across chests and helms placed atop their heads, and Link walked quietly past,

"Sir!" they had said in salute, and the Hylian only nodded in response, his acknowledgment as profound as any word would have been. And in only his undergarb, leggings, and mail, he sat on a large rock just outside the armory, and let what sun there was shine upon his tannish skin. It felt warm, and it was nice; its rays sprinkling heat across his cheeks and forehead. It reminded him of that one time at Lake Hylia, on a small island in the middle of it all, when arrows of fire had been bestowed to him, and their warmth was the most radiant of all. Yet he knew not of where that memory came from and why it seemed to be his, and he shook his head to relieve himself of it before that figure.. that figure who pervaded these thoughts came into his head as well.

He wondered if he'd gone slightly mad, one hit to the skull too many, yet at times he also relished in these fantasies (that's what he calls them) when reality proved too distasteful to bear. There were many nights he lay letting these fantasies enter his thoughts, and he'd entertain them, one hand twirling the laces on his undershirt and the other, somewhere drifting off the side of his bed. There were dragon beasts and shining stones, tiny children who could not grow, a mythical sword and a man.. a man who would speak only in riddles before disappearing into nothingness. These were not all, and as hard as he tried to prevent these little stories from invading his brain, he decided he could not, and when the Queen Zelda arrived beside him he felt both foolish and brave for what he was going to ask of her.

"My Queen," and he bowed and let her speak thenceforth, and she told of him today's plans and that her bird had told her the coast was clear.

"Just another day," she had said before smoothing her dress and looking to him, a light smile grazing her lips.

"As you say," he had replied and gestured for her to sit beside him as he sat again himself. He brushed off any dirt with his leather-gloved hand, and patted gently to the stone, smiling in his own way, even if he was not.

They spoke casually at first and she leaned into his every word, and he could not help to notice her beauty. Pale blonde hair cascading down over her shoulders, ears as fine and long as any Hylian could wish, and eyes of crystalline water blue. He admired her, cared for her, and as he gazed she felt tiny ripples rush through her chest, and she looked away for fear of a scarlet blush she could feel creeping up her neck and upwards still.

"Zelda, if I may," he began, eyes trailing - he feared his voice would waver. "I have a request, a foolish one, but I ask that you hear me out, and if it is indeed foolish you may say so at once."

She turned to him, the silk of her dress sliding against the roughness of the rock, and she said, "Of course, ask what you will."

And he told her, told her of the dreams he had been experiencing, and how they were too utterly strange and fascinating to be just fabrications from nothingness. She listened to him speak with widened eyes, tried very hard to appear lost beyond comprehension. He finished with a simple request, eyes genuine and kind.

"I would very much like to write this all down," he started, "but I am not good at all at writing my thoughts to paper."

She nodded, not sure what to say.

"I have noticed your scribe.. I have seen him in the corners at gatherings writing and I have seen him by your side as well. Tell me, can he listen to me as I speak these tales, and could he put them down with ink? I know this sounds like idiocy and that may be true, but I must alleviate the going's on in my head, and I wonder if this is the only way to do it." Link looked as if he wanted to take all he said back, so in a sheepish way he smiled a half-smile, and the Queen could not say no if she had wanted to.

"What troubles you is not for me to judge, my Link. If it would please you I can ask the Sheikah, and you may see that your thoughts be written, and in a grand way I would suppose, for Sheik has a wondrous way of writing and can make even the blandest of tales read like epic prose." She spoke this aloud and true, however inside she worried about her friend, her knight, and had the strangest inclination that introducing the two might not be the wisest of ideas.

Yet later that day she called upon her guardian, and he waited patiently outside her bedchambers until she opened the door to allow him in. His long legs strode inside the interior, footsteps unheard on the polished stone. He shut the door behind him softly and she gestured him further inside, until they stood before a large window, the Queen gazing out its sculpted glass.

The Sheikah waited quietly until she spoke, and she did so, not turning toward him.

"I have asked you here as a personal request, and yet this request is not entirely for me." Finally she glanced to him, a slight smirk present on her delicate features.

"Anything you wish," Sheik stated calmly and he bowed slightly before returning to meet her face.

"I have an acquaintance - a knight of mine, that is need of one of your services. He is quiet and kind and the most honorable of all I know, yet he is troubled by things, things I believe he wishes to exacerbate."

Sheik put his hands behind his back and stood tall, yet inside a growing anxiety pooled near his heart and he feared, he feared..

"Sheik," she began, putting both her hands to his shoulders lightly, "I have asked you to document my life as Queen, but now I ask you to listen to my knight and document his as well. I know you are in true a warrior who longs to return to the fight, but for now would you do this for me, for a friend whom I desperately want to help?"

"What is his name?" Sheik asked.

"It is Link," she said and he heard no more, as the fair-haired knight came rushing into his thoughts, and he has a name, he thought, he has a name.

And later that night in a small hallway in the castle, one which leads this way and that, a knight and a Sheikah brushed past each other in its narrow space. Nothing was said, nor was it needed, as both men recognized the other from the night before. Scents of fresh grass and leather mixed with incense and honey and in this short moment, one lingering moment, things would never be the same. There was no "I am sorry" or "excuse me's" from either even though their shoulders grazed and their hands slightly touched. It was mere accident, or was it, as both retreated to their chambers a bit more flustered than usual.

 


	2. Whispers of Anamnesis

Link had picked up a sword at a very young age, and she had seen him handle it with ease. The power that surged within his arm, the glisten in his eyes as he lifted the blade and she had thought, 'this boy is unlike any other'. Keeping a watchful eye on him as he rose through the ranks, from adolescent to teen to young adult, she knew who she would have be near her side if anything should go wrong.

He would kneel to her, "my princess", he would say, and then he would look to her, unafraid and searching. He spoke to no one but her, almost as if he were a figment of her imagination, yet he was not, and this worried her - for how would he command her army if he had naught the will to speak such commands to them?

However on one night, just as the sun had set below the peaks, the young man had rushed forth beyond the others toward a horde that was intent on breaking through the castle's wall. It was him and him alone, as the other knights and captains stood still, unsure. He had yelled, it was the first time she had heard it, and as he yelled it was like an explosion out from him and she was sure it was a mixture of fury and tears. He sliced through them all in a whirlwind of blade dancing, and after all the creatures were spent he came to her, hair disheveled, attire torn, bloodied hands, and said,

"They will trouble you no more, for a time."

And the other soldiers cheered and because of their cowardice they wanted him captain, and the recently crowned princess to queen Zelda had looked upon the boy Link and said,

"Protect me for as long as you live."

He did not want it, and she knew that very well by the look in his eyes as they begged for her to take it back, but he said nothing and knelt again, head downwards, blonde bangs cascading front of his face, and he waited, waited until she took his hand and brought him level. And she had thought to herself then, how broken was he; how strong but fragile, and selfishly she promoted him to a knight anyway. For she would rather have him near than so very far away, and he would never accept being captain.

If there were a thread coming from her heart, she felt it connected to him, this boy turned young man who had returned to her and fastened it upon first glance. Link, the trembling and quiet warrior.. Link, the steadfast and true.. Link, the honorable.. Link..

But he did not know who he was. He looked at his hands and they were real, gazed at his reflection and saw that was real too, and every night as he would sit at the base of a large, lonely tree in the castle's garden, he would sift through his own thoughts and the thoughts of another. Somewhere in there, he saw himself in both, and the one he was not living in would pain him the most, for it was the one with meaning.

The Queen was there for him, that was true, but she did not fill the missing piece. That piece that would hold him tightly.. the piece that made everything okay. The piece that knew what he had been through, the one who didn't exist.

* * *

The fair-haired knight was taller than the Sheikah had remembered, proud and with statuesque posture. He seemed to be wary, always on guard, his eyes shifting, watching like a vulnerable hawk.

His presence could calm the wildest of nature, for it seemed being around him brought sense of safety - a sense of protection and with it also a sense of adventure, peril. These sensations combined made Sheik feel daring, made him long for life outside the castle walls. To face danger and it vibrated through his being as he observed the other man, and he realized his subconscious yearning for freedom that for which prior was unbeknownst to him. And this made him feel conflicted, for within the code that bound him, such feeling was taboo and not at all right and he pushed it down, down, until it went back to that hidden place along with the rest of his emotions.

Sheik stood away, let the Queen talk to the knight - he saw her back and her long hair moving lightly across it as she swayed in subtle gestures. Her shoulders would narrow and she would lean into her knight unknowingly, and it was all very cute and well if it were reciprocated.

He saw her turn toward him, beckon him with her gloved hand, and Sheik stepped from the shadows. Each foot placed forward felt the ground move; the earth sensing his trepidation and he willed it to cease. He entangled himself from the darkness and his eyes gleaming could be seen, and the knight Link noticed him then, peering from beyond the Queen and it tripled the beats of Sheik's heart but he let it be known none.

The gaze was magnetic, held until Sheik stood beside the Queen, and neither spoke and all was silent.

Miraculously, it was Link who broke the quiet.

"You are unknown to me, but somehow.." he whispered.

"..somehow I am not?" Sheik finished quietly. His arms folded against his chest, the only barrier he could think of to guard the probing he could feel from the other's eyes. The blue swept across him, into him, penetrating him, paralyzing him. He could think of nothing else to do but look away.

The Queen, unaware of this strangeness although surprised at Link's willingness to engage, spoke to both. "You must recall each other's appearances from the other night? The party, as you remember. You both were there, although not introduced."

Link's mouth remained closed and the only utterance came then from Sheik, who spoke a slight "ah" from beneath the white cowl wrapped round his neck and up, covering half of his features.

"Yes," the Queen nodded, and nodded some more although both men knew that was not true.

And after that she introduced one to the other, and explained the situation again to both and what she would have them do. As a handshake was suggested both men stood for a moment, until Sheik was bolder and brought his hand out first. He waited and then thought more about it, and in second-thought he turned his hand slightly, so his palm lay upward. It was no more a handshake, and rather a gesture, a gesture to come with and no longer a deal, and Sheik's eyes spoke it too and they said, 'come with me' but he did not know where to.

Link's hand was then in Sheik's own, and it rested there lightly until he closed his fingers around the Sheikah's in a grip firm but friendly. He would have his writer and his story unwoven, and Sheik would have.. well, he was still undecided on that. Logically, anyhow. He had learned not to let emotions guide him, and whatever had crept from his bottom-half upward was not to be trusted. Ever. No matter how oddly beautiful he felt this warrior was, this Link from somewhere and nowhere at all, these were just passing observations. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

The Sheikah's hand in the knight's own was surprisingly delicate, but leading up from the arm to the shoulders and chest he became broader and tightly muscled, and Link decided that this man was more than just appearances. Strange was he, tanned and chiseled and with what facial features were visible were pleasantly symmetrical, with a voice too that suggested he was born and lived for a time somewhere beyond the deserts, perhaps.

Who is this man whom the Queen keeps? Do they sleep together, love each other? Is it purely physical with no emotional attachment or is it simply duty with nothing physical about it at all? Does he like women, does he like men? Perhaps it is both? He is long of form and graceful and steady - the fingers wrapped around his own are similar in nature - he must play music, digits plucking, strumming across the range of strings.. perhaps a lyre, golden and loved?

No longer was the man then amidst his thoughts writing from afar, and Link could sense the other's slight anxiety and he was sure the Sheikah could sense his as well. There was an elusiveness about this other man that bothered him too, as if Sheik could do dangerous things to him.. invasive things with his mind, or Goddesses know what else. And just when he started to wonder if he could trust this man with his thoughts, the other said aloud,

"You can trust me." It came softly from beneath the cowl, light breaths present in the fabric as his voice ushered forth, lyrical.. persuasive..

And the Queen added, "No one is more trustworthy than Sheik, for he has been by my side and aided me in honor for as long as I have known him."

And to know Sheik, what was that, she had thought later that night. He knew her deepest secrets, her fears, he had saved people.. killed people. She spoke of her entire life to him, and she really knew nothing concrete of his, save for what she had been told of his past by the ones who had brought him to her and what she saw daily, with Sheik by her side.

She recalled the countless nights he would spend near her - the kindness.. the severity. The tenderness.. the mystery. He was restrained by customs and culture and a promise, a code of the Sheikah, just as she was restrained by her own.

Yet, during the night when they would weave their tales of an imaginary past, as they lay together near the large fireplace in her bedroom, she would explain in woe of a hero she wished would come into her life, and he would never touch her. Never console her. She could feel his heart twisting just like her own, and he would lay there silently, eyes far away. She would speak and watch his eyelids close and reopen, soft blinking. His chest rising and falling, soft breathing.

"Where are you?" she had asked.

"I am here and there," he had said.

And he was always that way, torn between two, just as her knight had always been that way too. With a hopeful heart she hoped they could silence each other, and in turn be pleased with life and not so very distantly minded - for birds fly away when happiness lay elsewhere.

* * *

Link had opened the door to the small room looking tired.

Sheik, who had been sitting next to a modest writing desk, noticed this and sat up slightly, unsure of whether to let the man be or to get up entirely and do something to help.

The knight remained in the doorway and placed a hand on the wall, leaned all his weight and exhaled a pained sigh. He appeared hesitant, a little uncomfortable. The other hand he used to brush back any stray locks that had fallen front of his face, and he still said nothing, only looking at the Sheikah paused at the other end of the room with slightly narrowed eyes. The armor he wore he began to strip himself of; heavy pauldrons and plates that he unclasped and unhinged and unbuckled in a rather careless, uninhibited way. They fell to the floor in a heap and he stood only in leggings, boots, white undershirt and light mail.

"Can I help you?" Sheik asked, raising an eyebrow. Ah, there it is again, he smelled it; woods and pine, fresh air too.. like recently washed skin and hair or fabrics tied to a line outside in a subtle breeze. The stir in his groin, fevered and rushing and he quelled it. How unlike him to become so jostled by a stranger, and how strange it was even more for him to feel anything at all.

Link worked his left shoulder then, rotating it three times before sighing again and walking over. He shook his head and looked briefly at the other man, before sitting down lazily on the large chair on the other side of the desk, one leg hung haphazardly over one of the arms, foot dangling. And Link also noticed that smell of honey again, laced this time with lemongrass and.. what was it? Something rustic, like incense or herbs.

"Is this not a good time?" Sheik questioned.

And Link said nothing for a time, head upwards, glancing at the patterns on the ceiling.

Finally, he spoke. His voice was quiet and he spoke slowly as if what he was attempting to say could disappear from him at any moment. "It was in a forest. A green, lush forest that was as alive as you and I are now."

Sheik looked at him quizically, but then dipped his pen in ink and pulled his parchment nearer. Right to the point, he mused of how the strange sentence had flown so unashamed from the other man. He pressed the tip to the paper and started writing as he said, "In a forest.." aloud.

"Yes," Link said, his eyes far away.

"Is this how you would like it to begin?" Sheik asked. So much for introductory conversation.

Link stood abruptly, shaking his head and then slid the chair he was seated on (rather loudly and scraping the floor) nearer to the desk and re-seated. He placed both his arms gently on the table, his fingers clasping together. "I apologize, but it may all come out in a rather strange way."

An odd one indeed, Sheik had thought and glanced for a moment at the other's hands, a strange memory entering and he left for a time in his mind before looking back up. "You do not recall things as they happened?"

"I am not sure of when certain things were and where others ended." Link shook his head slightly, looking a bit defeated.

"I see." Sheik reclined, his back resting against his chair, the setting sun visible in the window behind him casting an orange glow throughout the room's interior. He looked deep in thought. "Would you like to talk about the forest? Is that where you.."

"Do you think I have lost my mind?" Link asked suddenly.

Sheik sat motionless. "No.. Some of us.. have experienced more than our fair share, and it can be a burden, like all things that are too heavy to bear," Sheik lamented.

"I feel guilty, for some reason, as if there were things I was supposed to do, but did not. Could not. Things I miss, yet I do not know when I lost them."

Sheik thought for a moment, the sky behind him now a purplish hue. He got up and moved to a corner of the room and then back, bringing along with him a candle and stand, of which he placed on the desk and lit. "It will be dark soon," he said. "Would you like some tea?"

"I.. yes, please. Why not."

And Sheik left for a moment through the only door, entertained a small conversation with himself and returned not long after with one cup and a small kettle. He poured the tea into it, and placed the cup gently before the other man. "It is hot," he warned. He eyed the knight from this vantage point, his red eyes studying, flicking this way and that across the Hylian's cheekbones, jawline, neck.

"Thank you," Link said and broke his gaze away too by examining the cup and the liquid inside before taking a sip. "None for you?" he asked before realizing the other man's cowl, and then said a slight "oh," realizing his mistake.

Sheik raised his brows (a silent laugh to himself) and re-seated himself. "What things were you supposed to do, Link?"

The fair-haired knight thought deeply about this, leaning gently on the desk with his forehead resting on his hands, and like this he responded after a large sigh, "I feel as if I had a huge weight upon my shoulders. Like the whole world depended on me and I was not sure if I could do it. There were people I was to save and things I were to gather and a dark, evil man who hated me desperately. This weight.. I still feel it and it bothers me every day I wake and every night as I try to sleep."

"What things do you miss?"

Link paused, realizing this all sounded more like the spilling of emotions rather than what he had come here to do. "I feel more for these things that haunt my mind than I do for anything in this life.."

This had to be the most Link had ever spoken in his existence, Sheik was sure of it, and he listened intently and graciously as the other poured his feelings out to a man he hardly knew. He was no longer the fair-haired knight seated at a far away table in a large room at a party some time ago. No, he was still a stranger, yet he was a lonely, sad, and broken stranger. A stranger who yearned for a life once lived. And so Sheik said,

"You feel nothing because that something is not here. Not in this life, anyway." He paused but then asked, "How old are you, Link?"

"Twenty-five."

"Were you that age in this other life?"

"I was younger. I remember until seventeen."

"And what happened after seventeen?"

Link opened his mouth but nothing came out, a thought forming in his head but no words issuing forth. And when he could not come up with a better answer, he eventually replied, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"That is when it ends. The memories." He trailed for a moment but then returned with an odd intensity, his blue eyes feverish, hasty, nervous. "Who are you, Sheik?"

The Sheikah remained calm, but inside radiated anxiety. The tables had turned, and he did not like it, did not like being asked about himself. He figured though, in order to please the Queen and her knight and to get this story out in they way both wished, he would have to oblige, and so in his own way he answered, "I am older than you, but that means nothing in regards to the Sheikah. I come from far away, and I was brought here in debt to the royal family. I serve the Queen Zelda and... there is really nothing more than that."

"There is more to every story," Link replied softly, taking a sip from his tea as he eyed the other man, suspicious. Careful intrigue.

* * *

"Who am I, in your tales of old?" Sheik had asked late one night to the Queen rested beside him.

She lay, with a hand to her forehead, illuminated by candlelight and replied with a gentle sigh, "If I were to place you, I would say you were the wise guardian to the hero. You arrived but never stayed, and your words were those of wisdom, cryptic but true."

"As I am to you now?"

The Queen laughed. "Yes, I suppose so, but you had a much harder life. Perhaps you were not appreciated as much as you are now?"

"Is that so?" he replied, "for I am sure the hero would appreciate such a guide, as his trials were difficult to say the least. And what happened to me, back then? What was my fate?"

The Queen positioned herself to look upon the seated Sheik, and glanced downward, waiting for a time until responding, "I am afraid to tell you."

* * *

The castle walls were shaking, trembling, and countless skeleton bodies lay across the floor.

Disassembled, broken were they of magical form; bones and skulls, weapons and shields strewn in disarray over lush red carpet. And two figures crouched near an exit, a pathway leading up, a staircase to a higher place.

One, lying completely on the floor, held by another, a hero in green - what words being spoken could not be heard, but there were tears; wet and glistening and reflective. The one in green tightly gripped to the other's arms, and lowers, until voices were whispers and inaudible.

There was blood on both but only belonging to one, and the last threads of life escaped to somewhere beyond. But it is beyond this that for which they cried, for beyond this there was no together, no couple, no love - beyond this there was nothingness and for which almost no memory of was a blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to hear from you, readers.


	3. Birds in a Gilded Cage

The dinner that night was much like the last, long tables filled with many bodies, faces familiar and some not - some hopeful, some weary, some young, some old. There was always food and drink, music and laughter. He gazed down the rows, watching some eat, others entertain small conversation.

Sameness. Boredom. He allowed a small sigh to escape his lips.

The Queen placed a gloved hand atop his leg underneath the table.

He met her eyes and hers met his, and she smiled to make him smile, and he did to be courteous but did not altogether feel like smiling at all. He nodded briefly at her, and with his irises he told her, 'I am fine, really.'

The glance did not last long, as he swept his eyes across the room again and down to the goblet of wine, which he grasped firmly and began to sip slowly. He blinked softly, repeatedly as he continued to drink, and his gaze traveled then to the far corner of the room - the darkest, most dimly lit corner, where he hoped in some subconscious way to see the mysterious Sheikah from the other day.

He had anticipated seeing the red of his eyes shining back, to let him know he was not alone at this gathering he did altogether not want to be a part of, but did not understand why he wished for it. He had never had an urge like this, a swelling that would rise and fall.. a tiny voice in the back of his mind that urged him to get to know the other man better than he did now.

It was a flicker of red then, like little beacons from across the hall. The Sheikah had been writing, hunched to the table, almost invisible to the dinner patrons, the feather atop his quill dancing back and forth as he scribbled on the parchment. And almost as if he had sensed the knight's gaze, he stopped, glancing up with a heated stare that could melt the icicles that inhabited the iciest caverns in the Domain of the Zora.

And he did not look away, instead rested his chin against his palm, and he relaxed this way - peering, wondering, calculating.

Link turned his head away rather quickly towards the Queen and pretended to be immersed in the conversation she was having with the nobles seated to her right. She noticed this and smiled, placed a hand on his shoulder, glanced then to the Sheikah with cool resolute.

_'It is like a tether she has wrapped round his neck, pulling like a puppet, a fragile puppy,_ ' Sheik wrote on his parchment not leaving her stare. He only disconnected it when he dipped his pen into the ink, and then on the other parchment he wrote,  _'The Queen Zelda and her fair-haired knight sat together that evening, she looking most regal in whites and golds that resembled the prosperity of her kingdom.'_

He did not realize he had begun staring at the knight across the way again until he snapped out of it and glanced down, noticing the drops of ink that had fallen on the leftmost parchment out of neglect.

Scattered. Messy. Probably dangerous.

The ink foretelling messages to him like those who read the leaves of tea in fresh cups of Earl Grey or whatever they're so inclined.

He stood, holding the tip of the aforementioned parchment in his fingertips, and walked with it carefully out to the nearby balcony, letting the fresh air greet him and in turn dry the ink and hopefully save what he had written throughout the night. He held the paper up to hit the slight breeze that wafted throughout the crisp evening air, read again through squinted eyes at the sentence he penned not just a few moments ago.

_'It is like a tether..'_

And that was when he heard a very subtle sound, footsteps down below through the pebbled courtyard. He leaned over the thick stone railing, peered over and saw..

and what do you know? The fair-haired knight must have needed some fresh air as well, for he cautiously traversed the space and whistled lightly, and to the call a horse appeared at which he effortlessly mounted and rode through the courtyard's exit and beyond.

Sheik watched him go and could not help but to smirk. A narrow escape from the insufferable. He knew he would return, after all, the tether was only so long and it was a tight one, red and coarse and with tiny little teeth.

He stayed like this only for a minute or two, and shook his head sadly before taking a large breath, one that he hoped would last him during the rest of dinner lest he'd have to breathe in the staleness that had lingered in the hall.

* * *

He hadn't run away like this in quite some time. Usually it had begun after some sort of internal tantrum he'd had as a youth, and he would run until his either his lungs could keep up no longer or the Queen-then-Princess' guards had found him.

Ragged he breathed atop the horse, he and it diverting into the woods nearby. The steed must have sensed his turmoil, for it raced uncontrolled through the thicket, the branches slicing neat little marks across Link's face, tunic (free of its armor), and gloveless hands. The woods were dense and the horse twisted and turned around the trees, and he closed his eyes and in a very self-depreciating way he hoped he'd never have to reopen them.

Freedom made him feel guilty.

But it was in these escapes within the mentality of being free that he learnt what it was like to live it. To do what he wanted and possibly get hurt and not be doted on by the Queen about a few cuts and bruises. For a knight he had more scars than any other who served the Queen, but in his mind they were still far too few, because he remembered having so many more and so many more that meant something.

He searched for adventure that night. For truths. And he thought it may have been the water in his eyes that made it difficult to see them if they had been there, but the tears were not kind enough to reveal anything of consequence to him - they only made it harder to see his own reality. The adventure never came and all was peaceful with naught in the woods except for the flicker of fireflies and fairies and the wind through the leaves.

The castle's stable was dark and he touched his horse softly and whispered goodnight before leaving. The moon was full and its light cascaded down, magnifying the shadows around with giant forms of pots and benches and his own silhouette. The red evil eyes were there again at the head of his shadow, and he said hello to his darker self with no hint of surprise as he'd seen the eyes all his life. They encouraged him sometimes. Sometimes he said no. Sometimes he said yes.

That morning the Queen Zelda had winced at the stitches that yanked through the knight's skin. A soft snip-snip on the thread that zig-zagged across his right cheekbone and it was then tied securely, and Link blinked his right eye several times to make sure it didn't pinch. She waited as if it were his death bed, and all his reassurances of how little it hurt or how little it mattered fell on deaf ears.

He struggled to remove himself from the cot, his shirtless form bending, torso lightly dampened with sweat and the queen could not look away from the pale golden skin, like creamy butterscotch. And so she moved to him closer, pressed down on his shoulders and said, "stay."

He said nothing and laid back slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, his expression impassive, unsurprised, half-lidded.

She fiddled with the little creases in her fine dress and she struggled to smooth them, struggled to seem preoccupied. Struggled to justify his clipped wings, those pure beautiful white ones he had shown up with years ago, metaphorically, those clipped wings, tagged now, and unable to fly. For a moment she felt guilt and this guilt made her leave the room, and as she walked briskly down the hall she only glanced quickly at Sheik who had stood still as she passed him, and his brows only narrowed a touch as he nodded to her whilst internally conjuring up ways to break this side of her to pieces.

* * *

"Lock this away and never return it to me," she had said when she placed it into his hands and ever since he had kept it in a tiny wooden chest that closed with a key. Every so often he'd open it in the privacy of his quarters just to make sure it was still there. Sometimes he wondered if it would be better if he returned it to her, have her play that song one more time and just rewind, rewind again.

He didn't blame her.

"Sometimes we are not the same people the second time around."

That's what she had said to him one night when he had asked her in the dimness of her bedchambers of how she came to be like this.

"But stay with me," she whispered to him. "Please."

He thought cynically of a large wooden box she could keep him in too, and the only image that came to mind was a coffin. It made him shudder internally, but instead he took his gentle hand to her head and simply placed it there atop her hair.

She was still but his touch resonated through her.

"Sometimes we are," he had said.

She turned only slightly, her lashes lifting, eyes peering at him.

"Sometimes we are the same," he said softly.

And she searched him, afraid for a moment that he knew, and very carefully she entered his mind and was relieved to discover he did not.

Sheik lifted his hand, "Don't do that," he said.

She did not turn away from him, only relaxed her gaze, eyes kinder and said, "I am sorry. I just wanted to make sure you are alright."

Sheik sighed, returned his hand to her hair, and the two remained like this for some time, still, quiet, deep in thought and searching for the memories that had escaped them.

* * *

Such a small world, carefully crafted. To go beyond it, beyond that sturdy transparent veil past the dense forests, just over there, across the castle's boundaries. What would that be like? He was beginning to be sure there would be nothing. Nothing anymore, at least.

Link glanced to the bed beside him at the infirmary, and imagined another him, lying there in a coma. If such a thing were true, he would understand. That would make sense. If it all were but a dream, fabrications of a hyperactive mind, then perhaps this reality could be accounted for. Yet he was here, touched his face just to feel the bones underneath, and continued to stare out the curtained window at the horizon of woods that resembled ocean, infinite, fading into the sky.

It was later that night when he was released from care, and he traveled the familiar hallways of the castle without much of a purpose besides one - a letter, not fancy, folded imperfectly. He held it loosely between his index and middle finger, his soft footsteps on the polished stone, and he felt oddly like he were sneaking, although why he should feel that way in his own place of residence perplexed him.

_'It is all a lie'_ , his handwriting said, and he slipped the note under a closed door. He stayed there none and did not overstay his welcome and continued on through the hallway lackadaisically like a ghost who haunts the wrong home.

And a figure walked from the bedroom to the door, heard the faint sound of something slipping beneath it, and he knelt to pick it up quickly and he returned briskly to his bed. The castle was eerily quiet that night, too calm, and Sheik was no fool to those eerie lapses of sound - sometimes the quiet could mask things that were amiss better than a noisy distraction ever could. And so he read the note but kept his ears alert, yet all he could hear was the distinct sound of the fair-haired knight's footsteps trailing away down the castle's halls.

He repeated what the rushed handwriting had scribbled across the torn page, whispered it aloud, and like a revelation it was as he spoke it from his own lips. And the feathered quill he produced then, and he laid its tip down on the note's reverse side, wrote  _'Meet me in the garden at dawn'_  and gave it to the bird just outside the bedroom window.

The blackened feathers glistened in the moonlight, its trip only a floor higher and a bit to the left, and once it landed it tapped on the glass of the pane before it, once, twice, before it was opened.

The answer was received from the black bird's beak and Link laid back down upon his bed with eyes half open for the rest of the night, watched the sky through the window change from midnight blue to lighter shades, waited for the sleep that never came.

 


	4. The Queen's Veil

The king - dark-haired, brown eyed, tall and fit - was away a lot.

It was a necessity, she had called it, for the kingdom. To be Queen, they said. To have a husband, to have an heir. And so she did it.

There had been a wedding. She knew not how else to elaborate upon it.

And night after night before it all happened she had sat with Sheik and discussed it, the pros the cons, how her life would forever change.

She did not want to lose the normalcy. She did not want to lose the very people who made her remember. But she was quiet about this, and the one she so wished would come rescue her did not. For it was a different kind of danger, one not written about in history books, one not prophesied.

Not one for a hero.

He had been younger this time than herself. Something happened between the past lives and the next. She had kept going and he lost a few years in between. Not intentional, she would promise you. Something about messing with time travel and all its consequences. Well.. what was a young princess to do?

There was that time in the courtyard when they met again as children. She had hoped it would have went the same, but different. No evil kings this time around or the like, but destiny? What about that?

Honesty was always a trait she coveted. However, she never told anyone she rewound more than once. She rewound selfishly. The first time, he had went away to a far off land, never to be seen or heard of again. This time she made sure he'd never leave. She felt guilty, of course, for it was not just their lives she rewound but all the lives connected with it. Poor Sheik seemed to be doomed to live beside her, for his servitude and promise the first time around traversed time and space and everything in between.

But he never knew. Not really.

It wasn't so much an obsession as it was a fascination with the life she had before. The comfort of familiarity, the two who seemed to appear with her through many different lifetimes.

And this time she had hoped..

Well, the king was not him.

He was not it nor whom nor anyone or anything she would have liked. But this was it. At least she had the two by her side.

She learned that he would play but never stay.

Link, that is.

Not the king. Unfortunately they are two separate people entirely.

They were not meant to be together, and she wondered through many lives at the preposterousness of her fate. The hero and the princess and the Sheikah. The love triangle that never was. And she despised him for it, adored him for it. Loved him, hated him. Wanted him gone, wanted him around. Couldn't live life without him. The problem, the answer. The muse, the distraction. Her friend, her enemy. Sheik.

Red-eyed and everything she was not. And she was everything he was not. But that was never enough.

But she loved him. Loved them. Loved them both. Wanted Link, wanted Sheik gone. Wanted Sheik to be by her side, hated Link and wanted him gone. It seemed like the two were inseparable through whatever lifetime she concocted and no matter what the situation the goddesses were laughing at her.

But enough of that.

As the sweetened wine entered her mouth and down her throat, she took a deep sigh. She glanced at herself in the mirror, older than before in a nightrobe of ivory silk, placed a hand to her face, irises quivering. It had taken a toll on her, she could see it. That nostalgic glimmer of hope sparkled in her eyes, and she said 'yes', to herself. 'Yes, I will do this..

one last time.'

* * *

Dawn was beautiful, bright blues and misty whites. The night fading away, the air chilled from the absence of light. He did not know how he could still enjoy the little things, but he tried to. Made a point of it. Being her protector, as she called it, left much to be desired. He wasn't exactly sure what these things were that he desired, but he knew that they were there. Inside somewhere, those little emotions he would encounter internally that swelled every now and again made him remember that he was alive even though he did not feel very much like he was.

He sat lazily but still as gracefully as ever atop the ornate perimeter fence, near the gazebo and the pond and the ornamentation that littered the castle garden's interior. One leg balanced atop this, the other dangling over its side, swinging lightly back and forth as if there were water beneath him his toes could be skimming its surface. And his eyes closed and he lifted his head, breathed in deeply through his nose and he just stayed that way.

He could sense the fair-haired knight coming. Could smell him, the forest aphrodisiac. Could hear him, the tannish boots and their expensive soles traversing the slightly dampened earth. There were all these subtle nuances that he had picked up on right away upon meeting Link, although the odd familiarity of them broke even his sense of logic.

Link came beside him saying nothing at all, simply leaned against the fence forward-facing, casually, his left elbow placed on the top railing and his chin laid atop his fist. Leaned in and gazed outward, thick lashes blinking softly, wheels in his head turning. There was a breeze through the leaves, early birds chirping amongst the branches. The chimes hung on the gazebo played a scattered melody, and the silence otherwise was welcomed.

After a long moment Sheik lifted the parchment from his lap, brought pen to it, its tip scratching lightly against the slightly textured surface. Link shifted his gaze just enough to peer through his hair at the other man, and the Sheikah continued writing still until abruptly he stopped and handed the paper out from him delicately into the knight's view.

_'The castle is listening,'_ was what it read.

"It always is," was Link's hushed response, detached as his eyes maintained its focus on something now just past the Sheikah's shoulder.

Red eyes bore onto him, searching.

"There was a fence like this one in a ranch, a ranch situated in the center of an expansive field. The fence encircled a pasture, and there were horses there and a girl with red hair who liked to sing. I remember going there many times because it seemed like it was the one place that remained the same throughout time. It was a sameness that was familiar, comfortable. This," Link gestured around them and to the castle behind them, "is a different kind of sameness. It is familiar but not comfortable, it is the same just for the sake of being the same."

Sheik thought for a moment then asked, "The same as what?"

Link sighed, defeated.

"But you cannot disregard the feeling..?"

"It is uncanny but I feel that it is there," Link replied.

"I.." Sheik began, "what would you say if I told you I feel it too?"

Link's brows raised a bit in surprise, he stood a little taller and raised himself from his relaxed position beside the fence.

"Yet," Sheik continued, "how do we ascertain that these feelings are any different than what anyone else feels? How do we know that others do not contemplate this 'sameness' as we do? Life can be banal, mundane, routine. Is that not relative to 'sameness' as well?"

The knight looked temporarily saddened, shoulders slumped, but not having given up he faced the Sheikah and spoke hushed but just loud enough for the other to hear, "Beyond the woods here," and he motioned to the dense foliage that had grown like a wall around the castle and outward, "there is nothing. It continues on and on. It has no end."

Sheik contemplated the woods with disinterest. "It is a large forest. Similar to an ocean where one cannot see its end. However, the end is there, just beyond the horizon to the point at which is not visible."

"No, it repeats. I know this for a fact."

An urgency then, from the Sheikah as he said, "Lower your voice, please."

And just a bit louder than a whisper Link continued, "I have been going in secret almost every night since I arrived here. I've left markers and -"

The Sheikah's eyes widened with anxiety. "This is a fascinating story. Why don't we _talk later in the study so I can write all of this down for your book_?" The emphasis was subtle but it was there, and he qualified Link as being utterly insane even though he had the nagging suspicion he was not.

* * *

The hum-drum of the wildlands to the north was to be expected. The chatter of the men behind him on horseback like ambient noise, they spoke anxiously of the creatures that roamed the desolate fields, wondered how many there would be.

There were always many.

Yet they were drones. Nothing to be afraid of, nothing to even really care about. It felt like busy work to Link, and he rode front of the men on horseback as well, face expressionless, the bouncing of his form atop the steed as it trotted his only significant movement.

He swerved through a pack of them, sword extended, knocking, slicing the creatures back like a leisurely game of croquet. And the men followed suit, mimicked his movements to the best of their abilities because that was how it worked.

Their knight's actions always spoke louder than words. Specifically because he hardly spoke to them. And they obeyed him like a captain, because they and even the Queen knew he was, although they dared not say that to him, especially since she explicitly told them not to.

He had named her Epona, his steed. Hadn't known where the name had come from but it simply had slipped from his tongue one day and that was what she had been called ever since. Their synergy was inspiring. Fluid, in tandem, as one. She knew he wanted to take of running. Anytime they were out there in that open expanse she could feel him holding back that feeling, that urge to kick her sides and never return. His self-control was admirable. His loyalty to the kingdom.

Hack, slash. Hack, slash.

It was mid-day when Link had signaled the men to return to the castle.

"All's clear boys! Let's return home!" the second in command had shouted and the group of six turned around, began galloping southward home. The second in command waited momentarily for Link to join him as usual, but instead watched him carry on north, galloping toward the mountain crevice. He left without him and rejoined the others, looking back every now and again to see if Link had changed his mind. The final time he did the blonde was nowhere to be seen.

"Captured in the mountains," Link muttered to himself as he and Epona slowly traversed the narrow naturally-carved pathways through the pinnacles. The sunlight dim here, shadows and cool air. He felt an imaginary rush of wind spun sand across his face, causing him to shield his eyes. "A desert fortress?" he murmured.

Epona's ears pricked forward.

"Nothing here, girl," he said to her, petting her gently, "just me talking to myself, as usual."

She sighed, a slight fluttering noise.

It was nothing new, the subconscious mirage. The uncanny feeling of being somewhere before. The smells that wafted throughout but didn't exist in reality. He thought that if he continued through the pass that he'd reach the place, but an odd feeling had told him that he had tried before and all that lie past it was void of any such relief.

So he turned Epona around and they both made the journey home, heads down, wandering slowly, both in no hurry to reach it.

* * *

"The blue one this time? The one with the gold brocade roses?"

Her back was to him as she perused the armoire.

"You know I am never any help with this."

"But your opinion matters, surely!"

He sighed lightly. "The last time you had council with the men from the east you wore said blue one with the gold brocade roses, if I remember corre-"

"Ah, yes! You are right. What would I do without you?"

"Certainly that is not all I am useful for."

She turned to face him, coming close and in a friendly but professional way she brought bare hand to his shoulder in consolation. It was held-back, timid. Careful. "Of course not, Sheik."

He allowed her to linger and when it was time enough to stop he stood, walking and whilst controlling every sigh that wished to escape him he ended before the ornate window and relaxed on its frame peering out.

"How is it going?" she asked from beyond the changing room.

"How is what going?"

The ruffling of fabric, satin. "...Link."

Butterflies.

"He seems eager to speak of that which ails him, however we have not had much time to-"

"Have you written much?"

"For the time being, no, my Queen."

She exited the changing room and walked before him. "Help me with the buttons, would you?"

His fingers trailed along her backside, the little fabric covered buttons slipping through ribbon loops. One, two, three..

"Do I look alright?" she asked as he continued, her voice a bit apprehensive. Unusual. Her gloved fingers wringing themselves nervously, fidgeting.

He breathed deeply. "The lavender was a nice choice."

"Oh. Yes, well.. the blue we ruled out and I did not feel like pink today."

And her nervous breathing could be heard as well in the solitude and privacy of her quarters, and it felt in a strange way intimate and he felt an unsettling sensation similar to deja vu but not quite.

Four, five, six..

They spoke not again until he was done, at which she turned around facing him, looking somewhat defeated, shoulders slumped. Not very queenly at all. The crown in her hair a bit crooked, and he reached for it, gently re-centering it atop her head. A little white flower from her nightstand he took and placed in her hair just above her temple, and he smiled a bit from under his cowl so his eyes would reflect his kindness.

She gave him a stoic look, as if she were to express at all she would crumble. So he pulled her close and held her with what friendly affection he was comfortable giving, and it made her want to die.

* * *

"You have me working after hours," Sheik whispered as he leaned on the door frame.

Link said nothing but motioned to the door. _After you_ , it had implied with a hint of sarcasm in his eyes.

And inside they both relaxed on the chairs made of velvets and brocade, one sitting proper as ever and the knight languid and slouched.

After polite discussion back and forth, a little bit of this, a little bit of that, Sheik sat forward with a serious question on his mind, one from their discussion earlier on that morning.

"So, how is it you can travel to the north but cannot pass through the forest?" He passed Link a glass of red wine which he had poured for him while asking, and the knight was surprised but looked somewhat relieved for some alcohol-induced relaxation.

"Thank you. To reach the north I must have the Queen's blessing to open the central gates. They are kept locked always and only open upon her command. One would think that you could leave from anywhere else, but this is not true. For as I told you, the forest surrounding is infinite." He takes a sip from the glass, keeping his eyes on the Sheikah.

"How long does it take you?" He has a glass of his own now, the flute resting delicately between his fingers.

"I can traverse its entirety in a night, from the sky's darkest point until dawn. At that point, I begin to see the markers again and all I have to do is turn around and I am back at the castle." Link folded his arms, rested back into the chair, a thought still nagging on his tongue. "The oddest thing however, is that if I turn back at any time, I am back at the castle. No matter how far I have ventured through it."

_Absolutely insane._ "A magical barrier? Perhaps to confuse and trap trespassers?"

"Possibly. Yet why keep everyone out? Even those who seek no harm? Those who are residents of the castle and the town beyond it?"

"I would like to see this for myself."

"I will take you."

A perplexed expression crossed Sheik's features then, almost as if he had snapped out of hypnosis or a daydream and with a slight breath he asked, "Link, why is it that you feel so comfortable revealing your discoveries to me?" And when Link gave him a curious look Sheik continued, "why has it taken us over twenty years to begin talking to each other when we have lived in the same castle for the entirety of it?"

He had been afraid to say it. Afraid at what that sentence and those words being said aloud could do to their world.

And the cowl that had been across his lips was loose, brought free from his face and it did not seem to inhibit him. Link watched in silence as the glass met lips and the red liquid inside trailed into his mouth, the way his throat would move as he swallowed, the way he tasted what remained on his lips with his tongue. And he sat on the chaise on his side with his head rested upon his left hand and saying nothing, simply observing this elegant creature who sat femininely, legs-crossed upon the leather chair, this obviously male but exotic androgyny amalgamation.

Sheik stood for a moment, lighting incense and its tip glowed red until its smoke began to swirl and he grabbed his pen and parchment and re-seated. "I am kept like a secret as the Queen's conservator.." he trailed. The conversation feeling familiar. The way the fair-haired knight had watched him just then felt uncomfortable, sudden, but the same. The same as.. was this the 'sameness' that Link had spoken of before?

Link thought. "I would suppose that is why we have not met until just recently?"

"Is that what you think?" Sheik pulled his legs up under him, sitting slightly to the side, elbow on the arm chair, placed the parchment on the low table beside him. "We have seen each other before." _And before, and before._

"At the dinner gatherings?"

"..Yes.."

"and?"

It was back again. That hellish tingling in his gut, in his thighs. Sheik wondered what it would be like to pounce like an animal to the chaise and take a bite. Insanity, he thought. Get a hold of yourself. But he could not help but to feel like the man over there would not resist. Would let him devour him. Strange. And even stranger is that he would not normally call himself a sexual person. Far from it. The danger that the tea leaves had displayed for him came to mind, and yes, oh yes, this was trouble.

"I.. appreciate having someone to talk to." Link said quietly.

The conversation was going in and out.

This same room, but lifetimes before.

"We can never tell her," he had said.

"Tell her what, exactly?" Sheik asked.

Link regarded him with confusion as if he had no idea what the other was talking about.

_"She is killing us,"_ Link's voice had said.

And this time Sheik was wise enough to ignore it.


End file.
